On Spain and literature – V

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My Mac broke down again (I didn’t fix it properly the previous time for lack of funds) but I’ll use a borrowed laptop because I’ve read a classic in Spanish literature and would like to say something about it.

Quoting Julio Rodríguez-Puértolas, on page 7 of The Culture of Critique Kevin MacDonald wrote:

A prime example is The Celestina (first edition dating from 1499) by Fernando de Rojas, who wrote “with all the anguish, pessimism, and nihilism of a converso who has lost the religion of his fathers but has been unable to integrate himself within the compass of Christian belief.” Rojas subjected the Castilian society of his time to “a corrosive analysis, destroying with a spirit that has been called ‘destructive’ all the traditional values and mental schemes of the new intolerant system. Beginning with literature and proceeding to religion, passing through all the ‘values’ of institutionalized caste-ism—honor, valor, love—everything is perversely pulverized.”

I confess that I found La Celestina quite boring, but I am not sure if it would be proper to catalogue this comedy—because it is a comedy—as “destructive” in the sense that MacDonald (who doesn’t seem to have actually read it) put it.

en la estacaHowever, it is true that Fernando de Rojas felt alienated in the late 15th century Spain. Some of his biographers even claim that, when Rojas was a bachelor studying in Salamanca, he received the tragic notice that his father, a Jew converted to Catholicism, had been condemned to die at the stake by the Inquisition.

As crypto-Jews usually did, Rojas married a converso woman; i.e., an ethnic Jewess, the daughter of Álvaro de Montealbán. De Montealbán also suffered a trial by the Inquisition and, although Rojas was a very successful lawyer by profession, he was not allowed to defend his father-in-law because Rojas was also of Jewish heritage, and therefore suspicious.

La Celestina was a huge bestseller of the time, even in translations outside Spain, but Rojas was always scared for having written it in his youth and, for forty years, remained silent about his authorship.

See my recent entry about the Spanish Catholic Kings Ferdinand and Isabella, who in 1492 promulgated a law to expel those Jews who didn’t want to convert to Christianity. The Jews who had lived in Spain for centuries had to go and the conversos who stayed became second-class citizens for the next centuries. The mission of the Inquisition was to keep under close scrutiny the conversos and see if they continued to practice their religious ways in secret.

Except for the first act, which was not authored by Rojas but by a non-Jew (either Juan de Mena or Rodrigo de Cota), as I said I found the comedy boring. Whatever the influence of this searing exposé of the Neo-Platonic idealization of women, an idealization so common in popular authors those times such as Petrarch, it probably didn’t go beyond the similar exposé by Cervantes of the chivalric novels of the age. To my taste mentioning La Celestina in the first pages of The Culture of Critique is a little off the mark, especially when taking into account that the most hilarious pages against women were authored by a gentile.

Rojas died in 1541, four years after Pope Paul III granted the bachelor soldiers in America permission to mix their blood with Amerind women. Now that I’ve just read the book I’d say that, although there’s a ring of truth in what MacDonald quoted, it should be obvious that the Spaniards’ lust for gold (see my previous entry about my teacher of literature), together with Catholicism, were the main cause of their racial suicide in the Americas. In those centuries conversos rarely got—as Rojas did—positions of cultural influence in this society that seriously tried to get rid of the subversive tribe. For those knowledgeable of the history of Spain and of Spanish literature, it would be laughable to hear that the book written by Rojas was a factor in the mestization of the New World.

On Spain and literature – IV

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Apropos of what I said in my previous post about blaming the Iberians’ lust of gold for their inter-breeding in the Americas, let me quote a translation of some lines of one of the poems of Francisco de Quevedo (1580-1645), “Poderoso caballero es don dinero,” that I reread recently in the book of my teacher Soledad Anaya (pic).

When Quevedo writes, “in the Indies did they nurse him” he means of course that gold is found in the newly-conquered West Indies, the lands of New Spain (now Mexico); and when he says “in Genoa did they hearse him” he means that the gold is buried as jewelry with the corpses of the wealthy merchants of the Italian city Genoa.

Mother, unto gold I yield me,
He and I are ardent lovers;
Pure affection now discovers
How his sunny rays shall shield me!
For a trifle more or less
All his power will confess,
Powerful knight is don money.

In the Indies did they nurse him,
While the world stood round admiring;
And in Spain was his expiring;
And in Genoa did they hearse him;
And the ugliest at his side
Shines with all of beauty’s pride;
Powerful knight is don money.

Noble are his proud ancestors
For his blood-veins are patrician;
Royalties make the position
Of his Orient investors;
So they find themselves preferred
To the duke or country herd,
Powerful knight is don money.

Never meets he dames ungracious
To his smiles or his attention,
How they glow but at the mention
Of his promises capacious!
And how bare-faced they become
To the coin beneath his thumb
Powerful knight is don money.

I’m not sure if the translation of “…to the duke or country herd” conveys accurately the meaning. In the original Spanish it says that the yellow metal “hace iguales al duque y al ganadero,” makes the duke and country herd equals.

You can imagine how the young and ambitious commoners in those times (like Cortés) looked for chances of upward mobility in the “West Indies.”

See Dr. William Pierce’s take on this very subject: here.

On Spain and literature – III

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The reason I almost never include poetry in this blog is simple. Very, very rarely a poem reaches the innermost of my soul. The first poem that reached me was one by Luis de Góngora, which I read in the textbook of Miss Anaya (photo) in my middle teens.

Góngora was a Baroque poet of the golden age of Spain. He, and his contemporary Francisco de Quevedo (about whom I have to quote something in the future), are considered the most prominent Spanish poets of all time. Góngora flourished by the end of the 16th and the beginning of the 17th centuries, when the Spanish language reached its maximum degree of perfection. Anaya, my former school teacher, tells us in Literatura Española that later in his life Góngora became a priest and lived in a chaplaincy of honor in Madrid in the palace of King Philip III.

Góngora composed his Sonnet LCXVI when he was twenty-one years old:

Mientras por competir con tu cabello
Oro bruñido el sol relumbra en vano,
Mientras con menosprecio en medio el llano
Mira tu blanca frente al lilio bello;

Mientras a cada labio, por cogello,
Siguen más ojos que al clavel temprano,
Y mientras triunfa con desdén lozano
Del luciente cristal tu gentil cuello,

Goza cuello, cabello, labio y frente,
Antes que lo que fue en tu edad dorada
Oro, lilio, clavel, cristal luciente,

No sólo en plata o vïola troncada
Se vuelva, más tú y ello juntamente
En tierra, en humo, en polvo, en sombra, en nada.

 

Following is Edward Churton’s translation. Góngora’s urgent appeal to a young blonde nymph to enjoy her youth before time destroys her made a huge impression in the lad I was:
 

While to contend in brightness with thy hair
Sunlight on burnished gold may strive in vain,
While thy proud forehead’s whiteness may disdain
The lilies of the field, which bloom less fair,
While each red lip at once more eyes will snare
Than the perfumed carnation bud new born,
And while thy graceful neck with queenly scorn
Outshines bright crystal on the morning air:

Enjoy thy hour, neck, ringlets, lips, and brow;
Before the glories of this age of gold:
Earth’s precious ore, sweet flowers, and crystal bright
Turn pale and dim; and Time with fingers cold
Rifle the bud and bloom; and they, and thou
Become but ash, smoke, shadow, dust and night.

On Spain and literature – II

“Zionist Occupied Government? Pffft! Zionist Occupied Culture? Closer. Zionist Occupied Soul? Bingo! The Inner Jew.”

—Sebastian Ronin

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On page 227 of her textbook, Soledad Anaya mentions that Naples and Sicily, Flanders, Germany, Hungary and Bohemia; Portugal and all the kingdoms of Spain itself became subject to the scepter of Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor, in addition to the rich new lands of America. Anaya mentions that the subsequent, various Philip kings lost, one by one, all the European lands; and she also recounts in passing the religious wars that ripped Christendom apart. On the same page, Anaya began her introduction of one of the Spanish poets of the time, Luis de León, born in 1527, “who has been described as the greatest of the Spanish lyricists.” Luis de León professed in the Convent of St. Augustine and was a teacher of theology and scriptures. But at the very end of that same page, Anaya tells us that in 1572 he was put in jail by the Inquisition of Valladolid, accused of not having the Vulgate as authentic, something considered contrary to the warnings of the Council of Trent.

I made a pause while reading that page and thought about writing an entry, “Iberian blunder on a colossal scale.” But it is a huge subject and I must limit myself to mention only a couple of thoughts of my soliloquy.

Precisely what I value the most about my favorite philosopher of the Greco-Roman world, Porphyry or Tyre, is that he could have prevented what the Führer called the greatest calamity that fell upon the white race: Christianity (for a couple of entries explaining my admiration of Porphyry, see here and here). It comes as a shocker to see that, unlike Revilo Oliver, Ben Klassen, William Pierce and others, most American white nationalists still stick to their parents’ religion. This month for example, Matt Parrott wrote in his Facebook page, “I’ll be praying for his [Craig Cobb] merciful treatment, for his health and vitality, and for his discovery of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ while he’s being persecuted.”

Wow. I wonder if Americans know how and why the Iberians lost their power in both Europe and the Americas? It was precisely what Spain did not tolerate in Luis de León; precisely what Christian Rome did not tolerate in Porphyry, what caused the fall of both Rome and Spain.

I have added to WDH many entries on how this Semitic-inspired religion (“prolefeed for the gentiles”) did not pay any attention to the racial boundaries. But the real point is that white nationalism, as a project that doesn’t reject our parents’ faith, is a lost cause insofar as the Christian problem has been more serious than the Jewish problem, even according to Hitler’s table talk.

Sebastian Ronin also believes that white nationalism is a non-starter. It should be a no-brainer among racialists that, in order to save the race, the first thing to do is to abandon the faith that amalgamated the Aryan psyche with the Semitic one. Only in such way it is possible to understand, as Tom Sunic does, why the US committed the vilest act in all Western history: siding the subversive tribe against her brothers in the century when we were born, and perpetrating with the other Allies a true Holocaust of Germanic people. Although Sunic has been video-recorded as politely saying to white nationalist Christians “Give up this Christianity!” I see no reason why not saying the same in more direct terms:

There’s no way to save the white race except by rejecting the Inner Jew to use Ronin’s words in the epigraph above, which I interpret as rejecting the symbol “Jesus Christ.” So let’s start with the very honorific name of this semi-historical or completely fictional personage, whoever he was. Just as “The Buddha” is a title of the very human Siddhattha, “Jesus Christ” is a title of the very human Yeshu.

On Spain and literature – I

Annoyed at the infamous TV series Toledo I tried to find some consolation in the epic film El Cid, “a romanticized story of the life of the Christian Castilian knight Don Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, called ‘El Cid’, who in the 11th century fought the North African Almoravides and ultimately contributed to the unification of Spain.” But even that movie released in 1961 starts with a politically-correct scene. El Cid, interpreted by Charlton Heston, spares the live of a Moorish king in the hope that the Moor will behave in the future after an anti-Christian raid (and in fact he behaves like a gentleman in the rest of the film). Then in the royal palace El Cid has a private conversation with the woman he loved, acted by Sophia Loren, and makes a speech about his pacifist intentions when he is accused of treason for having spared the life of the Muslim king.

Well, well… What about forgetting old and new movies altogether and focus instead in the Spanish literature of the Middle Ages? What will we find there? Big surprise: the historical “Cid” found some work fighting for the Muslim rulers of Taifa of Zaragoza! This happened after his falling out of favor of Alfonso VI, king of León and Castile, who in 1081 ordered Rodrigo Díaz’s exile.

But what else can the literature of the age say about the ethno-nationalist mores, values, moral grammar and zeitgeist of medieval Spain? Let’s take a look…

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This is a photograph of Soledad Anaya Solórzano (1895-1978), who graduated in Spanish letters at Guadalajara in Mexico. From 1920 to 1923 she served as Director of Primary and Higher Education in the Mexican government. She also taught Spanish literature, a field that she mostly loved, and was the Principal of the Secundaria Héroes de la Libertad until her death (the Middle School in Mexico City where I studied). Of course, when Miss Anaya taught me she was in her late seventies and looked a little older than in the photo, but she still was in command of her intellectual capacities. Anaya never married and was the single author of Literatura Española (1941), a textbook of more than thirty editions that we used in her classroom and I will use below and in the coming entries on the subject of Spain. I must say that in the first chapters of Anaya’s textbook, first published during the Second World War, she unabashedly uses the word “arios” (Aryan) when referring to the first conquerors of the Iberian Peninsula.

However, about the first ancient text that Anaya analyzes, the 8th century legend of King Rodrigo and the Loss of Spain (pages 28-31), the jew-wise reader is shocked to see that no accusation is made of Jews inviting any Muslim into the peninsula. The old legend tells instead that Florinda, a Visigothic maid (a purely Aryan young woman) was seduced by King Rodrigo, another Iberian white, in Rodrigo’s castle. As revenge the Count Julián, Florinda’s father, “opened Spain to Muslim expansion” Anaya wrote: an expansion that had been previously contained by the Count himself. The Moors then invaded the peninsula “and easily destroyed the Visigothic power that already was much debilitated.” Anaya adds that “it is not known what happened to King Rodrigo, who caused so much harm” and that the “historical happenings related to this legend occurred in 711 A.D.” Note that King Rodrigo, not Count Julián (or the Moors, or a purported Jew who opened the gates) is blamed. Presumably, the accent of the legend was on the sense of honor among the Iberians of those remote times.

Later, on pages 40-47 of the textbook I used in my middle teens, Anaya mentions the case of the legend of The Seven Infants of Lara, which recounts other Iberian whites using other Moors to take revenge about other cases of Aryan offences! This very famous medieval tale has Gonzalo Gustios, the crying father of the seven decapitated white boys in Córdova, marrying Aixa, the daughter of Almanzor (Almanzor, who had imprisoned Gonzalo Gustios, was one of the most powerful characters in the Caliphate). Mudarra González, the mongrel son of the Christian Gonzalo Gustios and the Muslim Aixa, is the one who is destined to avenge the father. The victim of course is not Almanzor, the Moor that ordered the decapitation of the boys on behalf of the valiant knight Ruy Vásquez. The victim is Ruy Vásquez himself that the mongrel dispatches at the end of the story.

Once more, for the medieval Spaniard race did not seem to be the central issue at all: but a knightly sense of honor, especially during in-group vendettas.

In the next chapter Anaya approaches the ancient texts about El Cid. His life inspired the most important epic poem of Spanish literature: the Cantar de mio Cid. Now that I reread her book after forty years of reading it for the first time I was shocked to see Anaya’s sentence that El Cid was “the terror of Moors and Christians” (my emphasis). When I finished the chapter I was surprised to learn that El Cid’s fame was not entirely based on the feat of expelling some Moors from the peninsula, but mainly on the chivalrous character of this historical (and legendary) figure of the Reconquista.

This, and similar cases I’ll be recounting in these brief series about the classics of Spanish literature, moves me to expand the category of this blog previously known as “White suicide” as the “Aryan problem (white suicide).”